


Certain Advantages

by Azzandra



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Fantasy Fulfillment, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Trust, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarvek still has a few last defenses to let down. Agatha and Gil help with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certain Advantages

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a kink meme prompt: _One of Tarvek's oldest fantasies is an honest-to-god damsel in distress/rescued pricess/sex slave fantasy where some wild, fierce Spark kidnaps him from his horrible backstabby family and takes him away and he doesn't have to do any of the fighting or the scheming, he just has to give them everything they want and let them take care of him._
> 
>  
> 
> _Gil and Agatha, when they find this out, are pretty much A-Okay and then some with it._

It wasn't like Tarvek didn't know it was silly. It was ridiculous; a trope that only appeared in romance novels of questionable quality. And Tarvek did feel the requisite amount of shame for all the late nights he spent reading about plucky heroines being whisked away from their dreary lives by brooding, mysterious men who demanded nothing else from them than bedroom athletics.   
  
He feels an extra helping of shame for all the times during his more hormonal teenage years that he imagined himself in the place of those pfennig-novel heroines. He would often, in his private moments with himself, imagine being carried off by some beautiful villain, plucked out of his life of responsibilities and family obligations to live the oddly appealing life of a pampered concubine. Being protected by someone stronger, and more devious, and more dangerous than him. Being... loved, yes. And being used, but only in ways that exhausted his body, and not his heart.  
  
Variations of this fantasy helped Tarvek make the best of his initial, adolescent explorations, and though once he grew up he tried to put all thoughts of the silly thing aside, it did still arise sometimes, at unexpected moments. Tangled in bed with Gil and Agatha, Tarvek did sometimes get a twinge of a thought, not really even in words, but going “please keep me here, please keep me here forever” like background noise in his head.   
  
The conclusion Tarvek drew from this was that all those trashy novels he'd read as a teenager had clearly had a deleterious effect on his subconscious.  
  


* * *

  
  
Tarvek wasn't sure how they'd gotten around to the subject. When he mentally traced back the progress of the conversation later, he could see why, in that moment, he felt safe and comfortable enough to admit the things he did. Not immediately, though, because the moment he finished talking, he covered his face with his hands. He couldn't even look at Agatha and Gil for the utter mortification he was feeling. The fact that they were silent was only comforting insofar as it was at least better than laughter.  
  
“You know what, I'm sorry, let's talk about something else,” he said.  
  
Agatha, laying next to Tarvek on the bed, shifted towards him. She gently grasped his wrists and pried his hands away from his face, and then planted a tiny kiss right on his nose. Tarvek was afraid for a second that she might actually say something about it, but instead Agatha turned on her other side, towards Gil, and began striking up a conversation about something completely unrelated. Gil, for once curiously unwilling to antagonize Tarvek, made no comment on it either, and he and Agatha began chatting about the relative merits and drawbacks of a new aetheric wave conductor they'd seen demonstrated on a recent trip to Zagreb.  
  
Tarvek sighed in relief and fit himself against the curve of Agatha's back. He spent the next ten minutes hiding his still red face in Agatha's hair and nuzzling her neck gratefully.  
  
The whole thing, Tarvek decided, would remain nothing but an embarrassing footnote, and all three of them would forget all about it. And Tarvek certainly did his best to forget.  
  
What he didn't anticipate was that Agatha and Gil would remember.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Empire marched on, regardless of any bizarre psychological hang-ups on the part of those responsible for keeping it running.   
  
Weeks passed, and so did a series of particularly frustrating negotiations with recalcitrant allies. Tarvek found himself mediating between two towns figure-headed by equally bull-headed Sparks, and therefore spent most of the time brokering under-the-table agreements with their more sensible lackeys.  
  
The whole thing was thankfully finished now, and the no longer warring Sparks packed on separate airships back to their respective lands. But Tarvek did still have to relay some sensitive information to Gil about the treaty, and though it could probably wait until morning, the sooner Tarvek could wash his hands of this entire thing, the better.  
  
At this time of night, and factoring in that Agatha was on Castle Wulfenbach for the next couple of days before returning to Mechanicsburg, there was a good chance Gil was in his bedroom. Agatha had been quite insistent about Gil sleeping in a place that was not merely a cot in a control room, and Tarvek had first hand knowledge of the fact that having a genuine bed had vastly improved the quality of Gil's previously nonexistent love life.  
  
Tarvek knocked on the door.  
  
“You in there, Wulfenbach?” he called out.  
  
There was a long pause, and indistinct sounds of shuffling.  
  
“Come in,” Gil responded eventually.  
  
Tarvek entered the room, and found Agatha there as well. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Gil was standing a little ways off, but given that they were fully dressed, Tarvek didn't think he was interrupting anything (though if he'd come later, that would have probably been a different story).  
  
But they were both looking at him oddly.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Tarvek asked.  
  
Gil and Agatha looked at each other, and then back at him, beaming.  
  
“Nothing at all!” Agatha assured him.  
  
Gil casually strode past Tarvek and towards the door.  
  
With anyone else other than Gil and Agatha, Tarvek would have begun sensing a trap by this point. As it were, he was actually sensing some sort of prank, instead.  
  
There was the sound of a key turning behind him, and the click of the door lock.  
  
The back of Tarvek's neck started prickling, but he didn't turn around to look at Gil, as to not give him the satisfaction.   
  
“Nothing at all, you say,” Tarvek repeated dubiously.  
  
“So are you busy right now?” Agatha asked.  
  
“No, I... I'm done for the night,” Tarvek said.  
  
“Oh,  _good_ ,” Agatha said, sounding entirely too pleased with this answer.  
  
Tarvek heard Gil moving behind him, no matter how quiet he was being. It would have been a disgrace to his training if he hadn't. But Tarvek didn't anticipate Gil's hand clamping down on his shoulder, and certainly not to be pulled against Gil's body possessively.  
  
“Then you're ours now, Sturmvoraus,” Gil growled in Tarvek's ear.  
  
This sent a shiver through Tarvek, and Gil must have sensed it, because he huffed in quiet laughter against Tarvek's neck.   
  
Tarvek wasn't sure of the game yet, but at least not he knew where this was heading.  
  
“Was acting so dodgy really necessary?” Tarvek asked, barely suppressing the urge to call Gil a drama queen, and only then for the sake of not endangering his prospects for sex that evening.  
  
Agatha rose and took a few steps towards them, but stopped short and folded her arms across her chest.  
  
“We just wanted to surprise you,” she explained, “not  _startle_  you.”  
  
This last criticism was aimed over Tarvek's shoulder, at Gil.  
  
“Speak for yourself,” Gil said, with the smug assurance of someone convinced he had Tarvek's number. He placed a hand on Tarvek's hip and squeezed.  
  
“I think I'm missing something here,” Tarvek said.  
  
“We were planning to help you unwind,” Agatha said.  
  
“And to that end, you decided to... do what, exactly?” Tarvek asked.  
  
Agatha threw back her shoulders, shifted in place, and her entire posture changed. When she moved again, she walked like someone dangerous and barely contained, slinking towards him like an imminent disaster. Tarvek was reminded that she'd been an actress, for however short a time, and a good one. The way she grinned alone seemed to be channeling every warlord whose blood she'd inherited.   
  
This should not have been half as exhilarating as Tarvek found it to be, but this was still  _Agatha_ , and he trusted her more than he trusted himself some days. She could dangerous,  _was_  be dangerous, but knowing she'd never choose to hurt him regardless made him feel a knot of heat twist in his belly.   
  
“To that end,” she said, voice crackling with Spark harmonics as she cupped his cheek, “you're the poor innocent princeling fallen in the hands of a couple of frightening and clearly depraved Sparks.”  
  
Tarvek's mouth went dry. He realized suddenly what this was about, and almost wanted to sink in the ground at the memory of what he'd told them.  
  
It wasn't like they didn't do this kind of thing often enough. They could be fairly experimental in the bedroom (and that could be a problem when they were literally experimental, since even odds were that they'd forget the initial goal of the exercise and get caught up in each other's fugues, abandoning any attempt at sexual activity in favor of doing science in various stages of undress.) They'd discovered a great deal about Gil's inclinations towards creative use of lab equipment during intercourse, and the several sessions they'd spent testing just how responsive Agatha could be to various tones of voice was both memorable, and educational in ways which improved their subsequent performances greatly.  
  
And yes, they'd indulged plenty of Tarvek's proclivities, but this time it felt... different. More personal than he'd ever allowed it to be. Perhaps that meant that he'd held back with them, but.  
  
But...  
  
He couldn't form the next thought at the moment. Agatha's hand was very warm against his face. Gil was very solid at his back. These observations seemed to squeeze out other things out of Tarvek's mind.  
  
But there was a reason, Tarvek was sure.  
  
“You don't need to do this,” he said, voice rough.  
  
Agatha pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, tracing his jawline. She studied him closely, as if she wasn't already as familiar with his face as he was with hers.  
  
“But we want to,” Agatha said. “The only important question here is, do you?”  
  
The first answer that popped to Tarvek's mind was, ' _God_ , yes'. And if he thought about it any more than that, he was sure he would talk himself down, and find innumerable reasons to deny himself. He was already starting.  
  
So very deliberately, he made himself say “I do.” It came out in a dry whisper, unexpectedly intense.  
  
Agatha's grin turned sharp and she leaned forward—Tarvek thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she pressed a cheek against his, and sank her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.  
  
“Don't worry, you're safe with us,” she said, voice low and full of promise.  
  
She kissed him after that, sudden and fierce enough to make Tarvek's head spin. And just as suddenly, she released him from the kiss, leaving him panting hotly and feeling vaguely out of step with reality.  
  
Agatha grinned, caught in the grips of a fugue, and though there was color in her cheeks, she looked far less affected than Tarvek felt.  
  
“Why don't we go over to the bed?” she asked, her voice an odd mix of gentleness and madness that made Tarvek feel like he was being lured.  
  
“I...” He cleared his throat, but no clever line came to mind. They were doing this for him, and he was struck speechless. That had... never happened before, or at least never at  _this_  stage of the proceedings.  
  
Gil resolved the situation by placing a hand against Tarvek's behind and squeezing.  
  
Tarvek yelped, half startled and half indignant.  
  
“I'm sorry, I just meant to get your coat,” Gil said, while keeping a surprisingly straight face. “My hand must've slipped. Strangest thing.”  
  
Tarvek allowed Gil to undress him of his coat, but he made a doubtful sound. Then Gil casually threw Tarvek's coat off to the side, where landed on a chair, and Tarvek was right back to indignant, even though he expected this kind of behavior from Gil.  
  
Agatha laughed, but she took Tarvek's hand and pulled him along. Tarvek could tell how closely Gil followed them by the sound of his chuckling. Before Tarvek could form some sort of plan for retribution, however, Agatha pushed him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

She sat down next to him, close, her body pressed against his side, and Gil mirrored Agatha's position on his other side, and Tarvek felt—oddly—trapped. Like he was being held there, even though Gil and Agatha were doing no such thing. But the effect was-- it was good. It was good in a way that made Tarvek want to check if his brains hadn't dribbled out his ears, because he was clearly not thinking straight anymore. He tried to control his breathing and remain calm, even as the anticipation started mounting.  
  
Agatha ran a hand over Tarvek's chest, touching all the buttons on his waistcoat in turn, but never stopping to undo them. Gil, displaying about as much subtlety as Tarvek had come to expect of him, was running a hand over Tarvek's thigh, tracing a pattern with the tips of his fingers. Not really teasing, but like they were getting him used to their touch.  
  
Finally Agatha let out a thoughtful hum, and looked over at Gil.  
  
“Perfect, isn't he?” she said.  
  
Gil smirked, and his hand stilled on Tarvek's thigh, palm spread open, solid and warm. Tarvek couldn't help but focus on it, and the way Gil was inconveniently not  _doing_  anything with it.  
  
“A lucky catch,” Gil rumbled in agreement.  
  
Tarvek avoided their gazes, staring up at the ceiling even as he felt himself turn red. Though unintentionally, he was at least playing the role of the virginal prince well. He could almost believe it was not an act on their part either.  
  
Agatha popped open the topmost button of Tarvek's waistcoat then. And the second one after a short pause. Slow and deliberate; definitely teasing this time.  
  
But Tarvek was distracted from this because in one smooth motion, Gil grasped his chin, turned his head, and pulled him into a kiss. It was just as sudden as when Agatha kissed him, but Gil was rougher, and his fingers were not gentle against Tarvek's jaw. He was unrelenting and unwilling to slow down, and Tarvek matched him as if afraid he would be consumed if he didn't.   
  
By the time Gil pulled away, wild-eyed and flushed, Tarvek felt dizzy and out of breath, and his hands were fisted in the fabric of Gil's shirt, not quite pushing him away and not quite tugging him closer.   
  
By contrast, Agatha's fingers felt cool against Tarvek's skin, and it was then that he noticed her hand had slipped inside his now-unbuttoned shirt. He'd turned away from her at some point, but Agatha didn't seem to mind. Tarvek felt her move behind his back, kneel up on the bed, and slide her hands over his shoulders.  
  
She kissed a trail along the side of Tarvek's neck, gently at first, lips barely touching his skin, and then more decisively. Gil apparently liked this idea as well, and pushed Tarvek's collar out of the way to kiss along the other side of his neck.   
  
Tarvek closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing but Gil and Agatha, here, focusing all their attention on him. Perhaps he  _had_  always held back before, just the slightest bit, without even noticing, but these were defenses so old he had no idea how to lower them anymore. They didn't expect him to do so, but they were doing this for him anyway, knowing it wasn't something he'd ever ask for himself.  
  
Tarvek felt suspended between them, as if they were the only two solid points of reference he had left in the world. It was pleasant, in a floaty sort of way, relaxing to just let them do whatever they wanted to him. So much so, that when Agatha stopped, Tarvek inadvertently made a sound of protest.  
  
“You okay?” she asked in a breathy whisper.  
  
“I'm--”  _Fantastic._  “--fine,” Tarvek said.   
  
Gil stopped as well, and leaned back to look at Tarvek, the way he always did when he was trying to tell if Tarvek was lying.  
  
“I'm fine,” Tarvek repeated more firmly.  
  
After a moment, Gil gave Tarvek a toothy grin, full of friendly menace.  
  
“Of course you are,” Gil said. “We'll take good care of you.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Agatha agreed, nuzzling the spot just below Tarvek's ear. “Very good care.”  
  
Tarvek closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, then exhaled shakily. Then he felt hands, gentle but insistent, push him onto the bed. His shoes were removed with great efficiency, and he was gently fussed all the way up the bed until his head reached a pillow. Next thing he knew, Agatha and Gil were looming over him, identical grins on their faces. The way they were positioned, they were blocking the light from the overhead fixture. Their faces were shadowed, but not so much Tarvek couldn't make out bright eyes and predatory expressions.   
  
It was slightly surreal, like one of his old fantasies; not quite identical, but similar in effect. Except it was happening, now. It wouldn't be just his own touch in the dark this time. There were real hands, real people and—as Agatha leaned down—real mouths. She planted kisses along Tarvek's collar bone and down his chest, and Tarvek touched her hair as she did, ran his fingers through it to assure himself she was really there.  
  
Gil, meanwhile, stretched down alongside Tarvek, and resumed kissing him. He was not as overpowering as before, and Tarvek almost wished he were, but this was pleasant in a different way, reassuring in its familiarity. As Gil nipped at Tarvek's lips in between short kisses, Tarvek started suspecting that he  _was_  being reassured. When he pulled back fractionally and really looked at Gil, the expression on Gil's face was almost solemn. Or at the very least serious for a few seconds, before it turned mischievous, and Gil plucked the glasses right off Tarvek's nose.  
  
Tarvek blinked, trying not to pay much attention to how blurry distances had become all of a sudden, and Agatha handed off her glasses as well to Gil, not even taking her attention off Tarvek to do so. Gil sprang up from the bed, leaving nothing but cold air against Tarvek's side.  
  
Luckily, Agatha was there to keep Tarvek from feeling too bereft, and she lied down next to him and pulled him into a kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair as she did so, in even strokes at the nape of his neck.  
  
“You're perfect,” she said against his lips between kisses. “We're going to keep you forever.”  
  
There was a hitch in Tarvek's breath as she said that, and he knew Agatha felt it. A slow smile spread across her face, and the hand carding through his hair stilled. She rubbed soothing little circles against the skin of his scalp instead.  
  
“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” she asked. Green eyes narrow and intense, like when she's just made a breakthrough, and she brought the same intensity here, with him. “Wouldn't you?”   
  
Tarvek licked his lips and nodded, just a fractional movement, barely even noticeable. But Agatha was satisfied, and so happy she looked just about ready to purr.  
  
“You could leave everything to us and never have to leave this room again,” she continued, caressing a thumb over his cheek. “You'd be all ours. All _mine_.”  
  
With every word, Tarvek felt something inside winding tighter and tighter, a knot of heat and desperate want he'd rarely experienced before. He found himself clinging to Agatha, his breathing getting shakier by the second, his body tenser. He had the absurd thought that if she left or pushed him away at that moment, he might burst out crying, and that made him cling tighter.  
  
“Agatha,” he mouthed, faint and desperate.   
  
“Shh, it's okay,” she whispered back, and kissed his forehead, chaste and affectionate. “Like I said, keeping you forever.” As if it was decided. As if that was exactly how it was going to be.

Tarvek felt rather than saw Gil sit down on the bed again. Had he been watching? Had he been listening? He'd completely eluded Tarvek's perceptions, and not even on purpose.  
  
“Hey,” Gil said, leaning over Tarvek to press his lips against Agatha's temple. “Hope you weren't planning to keep him all for yourself,” he murmured warningly in her ear.   
  
Tarvek was close enough to hear, and a shiver went down his spine. He'd vied with Gil plenty of times for Agatha's attention, but that was mostly in the early days, before they were secure enough of Agatha's affections to accept each other. But for Tarvek to get caught between Gil and Agatha instead—this was a change in dynamics that Tarvek could never have envisioned, not even in his fantasies. It was strange novelty, unexpected but exciting.  
  
“Of course not,” Agatha replied, all smiles and innocence. “He needs all the attention he can get.” But then when she looked at Tarvek again, there was just the slightest hint of a conspiratorial smile.  _All mine,_  implied again, as if he was something precious worth possessing.  
  
Gil hummed thoughtfully and gave Tarvek a look-over, as if considering him.  
  
“You're right about that,” Gil said.  
  
Tarvek gasped as Gil reached down and pressed a hand against the bulge in Tarvek's pants. Partly it was out of surprise, but the way Gil was cupping him, firm and warm... Though Tarvek tried to control his breathing, it came in rapid, shallow bursts, leaving him dizzy.  
  
There was no smirk this time, no comment on Gil's part. There was only a hungry look in his eyes.  
  
“What... do you want?” Gil asked hoarsely.  
  
Tarvek squirmed, and Gil's hand kept on him firm, not firm enough, not doing anything to him, and still making his body burn all over.   
  
“I-- I don't know,” Tarvek stammered. And he realized he really didn't. He wanted to leave this decision to  _them_ , and without even thinking about it, he knew it was the kind of thing he could entrust them with. “Whatever you want,” he mumbled.  
  
Gil's expression was unreadable at that moment, but he looked towards Agatha (for an idea? For a cue? Tarvek couldn't guess anymore.)  
  
“Alright, then,” Agatha said, and nipped at Tarvek's earlobe. “Pants off.”  
  
Gil frowned very slightly.  
  
“Mine, or his?” he asked.  
  
“Either. Both. I don't care,” she growled, “as long as  _somebody_  is getting naked.”  
  
Tarvek choked back laughter—this conversation was more in line with how their encounters typically went, and in the moment, there was something both absurd and very endearing about it at the moment. Agatha huffed, but by the look she was giving him, Tarvek could tell she was about to invent some kind of punishment for his lapse in decorum.  
  
As Gil enthusiastically shed his own clothes, Agatha caught Tarvek's eye, and very slowly, began unbuttoning her shirt. Tarvek found himself transfixed with every centimeter of skin she revealed. There was something in the way Agatha was angled, and the way she was looking at him, that made him feel like this was just for him.  
  
“You want to touch?” she asked softly, the corner of her lip curled up because she knew the answer.  
  
Of course he did. He always wanted to touch. He loved nothing more than running his hands over Agatha's body, caressing, stroking, giving her pleasure. He couldn't think straight anymore, but he didn't need to, not for this. He slipped a hand inside her shirt, pushed it open, exposed a shoulder—so much beautiful skin, and Agatha so generous with how much she allowed him—and he traced the dip of her waist, almost slipping a hand under her camisole.  
  
He was interrupted only by Gil roughly trying to separate him from his pants.  
  
Tarvek groaned, not quite in protest, but disturbed from a rather pleasant endeavor and unhappy about it—slightly more happy about it, though, when he noticed Gil was completely naked, and hard, and not even a bit self-conscious about it. It was at least distracting enough that Tarvek didn't mind being stripped of everything he was wearing.  
  
“Wait, me too,” Agatha said quickly, unbuttoning her own pants. She squirmed out of them half-way and then raised her legs imperiously in Gil's direction.  
  
“Yes, mistress,” Gil said, snorting in amusement as he helped Agatha of the pants.  
  
Agatha took off her own shirt and then, and a moment's thought, her underwear as well.  
  
“Much better,” she said.  
  
Tarvek wasn't uncouth enough to start groping at Agatha's breasts the moment they were exposed, even after years of familiarity. This was something that Agatha was both aware of and occasionally frustrated by.  
  
But Gil had no compunction against being shameless on Tarvek's behalf. He grabbed Tarvek by the shoulder and flipped him over, sending him face-first into Agatha's breasts. Agatha squealed in surprise.  
  
“Gil!” she yelled, trying to sound stern and failing for the laughter in her voice.  
  
But she pressed hands against Tarvek's shoulders and held him in place against her chest, even as he sputtered an apology.  
  
“No, shh,” she said, patting Tarvek's hair. “ _You're_  exactly where you need to be.”  
  
Tarvek chanced a look at her, and the tender expression on her face almost destroyed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked. And Agatha continued to stroke his hair, constantly comforting.  
  
“Just let us take care of you,” she was saying, almost pleading. “Stay here with us, we've got you.”  
  
Tarvek groaned, hiding his face between Agatha's breasts. He was driven beyond shame at this point, felt like he'd been turned inside out. Her words pulsed through him, like fire through his veins, traveling through his body and pooling where his erection was trapped against the bed. It was unbearable and he didn't want it to stop.  
  
He felt Gil's hand against the back of his thigh, and the way the bed dipped as Gil moved over him, but Tarvek didn't have the wherewithal to actually turn and look at what was happening. The question was answered anyway, when he felt the cold lubricant. Startled once again, but Gil did enjoy that kind of thing, and--  
  
Tarvek felt Gil lean down and plant a kiss on the center of his back. A short one, a light reassurance of affection. Agatha hummed in approval, held Tarvek just a bit tighter. Gil adjusted Tarvek's position, and Tarvek, feeling unusually pliant, let him.  
  
“Relax now,” Agatha said.   
  
Tarvek wasn't sure he had a grip on what his body was doing anymore, but he didn't tense. The feeling of Gil slipping into him, so slow and careful, was surprisingly not all that overwhelming. Tarvek suspected he'd plateaued. Everything was a haze of warmth and suffusive pleasure. Gil started moving, but it was only in shallow, tentative thrusts at first, as if strangely shy, even though this was hardly new territory for either of them. When he settled into a rhythm, it was a slow one. Not just taking his time, but being... sweet, Tarvek supposed. And gentle. It wasn't something Tarvek expected from Gil, it wasn't something he ever expected to  _need_  from Gil, but it was given now, all the same.  
  
Agatha's soothing monologue didn't stop, nor did her loving touches, but Tarvek could no longer process the exact words. His mind was reduced to a happy smear against the inside of his skull, and all he had was a profound assurance that he was safe, that he was loved, even if it wasn't something he'd ever dare think too loudly when he was lucid.  
  
Time didn't make sense anymore, and Tarvek was disinclined from trying to make sense of it. There was only this, the pleasure, the aching affection, and Gil and Agatha, holding him, keeping him. There was nothing he needed to do but exist here.  
  
It was a moment that stretched into infinity, and yet it seemed to slip away from him much too fast. Tarvek's mind was dragged back into semi-coherency by his body's demand for release, a pressure he hadn't felt mounting until he took notice of it now.   
  
Gil was close, too. He groaned like a man being tortured, and his grip on Tarvek's hip was almost crushing.  
  
Agatha was hardly unaffected, Tarvek could see by her rapid breathing. She always did like watching them. But Tarvek had the fleeting thought that she ought to catch up with them, and so his hand found its way between her legs, and there found her wet and wanting. She keened, the sound cutting through Tarvek hotly, and Gil's hips bucked out of rhythm.  
  
“Faster?” Tarvek slurred, not sure who or what he was referring to anymore. Just, faster. Harder. More. So close.  
  
Agatha nodded. Her hands were still now, but she held Tarvek in a stubborn embrace, as if making true on her promise to never let him go.  
  
Gil took the instruction to heart, and surged against Tarvek with vigor. Every buck of his hips was hard and desperate now, and Tarvek wondered which one of them was closer to climax. He was sure it would be Gil, but then Gil reached around and took Tarvek in hand, and Tarvek thought, fleetingly,  _that's cheating, Wulfenbach_  and then he had no thoughts at all as his mind went blessedly blank.  
  
Gil finished only seconds later with a sharp exhalation. He pulled out with a complete lack of ceremony, and flopped down onto the bed, panting and spent.  
  
But Tarvek still had unfinished business. A bit embarrassed by how abruptly he'd started this, but as he began moving his hand again, Agatha made the happiest noises. He continued even as her back arched in pleasure, slowing the strokes of his fingers, but not quite stopping until he knew was winding down again. It was one of his small satisfactions in life, that he had come to know Agatha's body this well, and that she'd let him.  
  


* * *

  
  
Later, in the shower, Tarvek found himself staring at a wall as hot water pelted down on him. He was expecting to feel shame creep in any moment, but after a short internal review, he determined he didn't have an ounce of regret over anything. He was tired, wrung out emotionally, but he also felt renewed, as if living in a world that was subtly different from the one before, and better for it. Better for having Gil and Agatha in it.  
  
It was the afterglow, Tarvek told himself. But then he leaned his forehead against the wall and smiled senselessly to himself. He could ask for this again, he knew. Not now. Later. A lot later. Months, maybe years down the line. But he  _could_ , and that was important for him to know.   
  
And he also  _would_ , and that knowledge surprised him.


End file.
